


Of the brighter, cold moon

by soundingsea



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M, Female Protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-04
Updated: 2007-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundingsea/pseuds/soundingsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A werewolf's vampire boyfriend looks at her and sees his slayer ex. This may sound like the start of a joke, but only because comedy and tragedy are so close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of the brighter, cold moon

**Author's Note:**

> Backup for chrisleeoctaves in cindergal &amp; kellyhk's [Welcome Back to the Hellmouth Kinkathon](http://kellyhk.livejournal.com/144064.html). Challenge requirements at the end. Title from E. A. Poe's "Evening Star".   
>  Thanks to spiralleds for her detailed comments on draft after draft, and to sunnyd_lite &amp; alixtii for helping me give it a final polish. Spoilers: "Not Fade Away"

Nina slips out onto the balcony to catch the first glimpse of sunrise. The Hyperion's got a great eastern view that would be even better if half the LA skyline weren't a crumbling wreck.

She doesn't hear Angel approach, but the familiar weight of his arm at her waist makes her smile as she leans into him. Might be that this place is full of memories that tug at him like ghosts, but he's a reasonable facsimile of solid.

"Bit late for you to be out here," she says. "Time for all good vampires to be in bed." Not that she knows that many good vampires; two, at last count, and she's not really sure of the other one.

"Only if you join me," he says, hand slipping into her carelessly tied robe and brushing up to cup her breast.

Nina catches his wrist, holding his hand against her. "This why you let me win the 'but I sent you away to safety blah blah' argument?"

"No, you won because you don't listen. Stubborn, just like..." Angel looks out into the morning, disconnected for a moment. Then he smiles and tweaks her nipple, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to send a frisson of heat through her.

Nina laughs, slips free, and heads back to bed, the unspoken invitation lingering behind her. Sliding back between their exceedingly nice sheets, she wonders if Angel looted the linens department while everyone else was in electronics.

As if those plasma TVs did looters a lot of good, what with trolls and dragons attacking. She came back from Mexico as soon as she saw the news; Angel wouldn't leave, and she wanted to be with him. The bright side of driving into an apocalyptic nightmare? It's against traffic all the way.

Through the open French doors, she can see Angel looking east, naked longing on his face. Yeah, Rome's that way, but so's daylight; plenty to choose from in the 'stuff Angel can't have' sweepstakes.

She wonders what happy looks like on him; she knows better than to ask.

***

The end of the world shouldn't be this sunny; makes it difficult for one's vampire boyfriend to get around. And dark times should look, well, dark. Nina's seen the occasional summer blockbuster, and as she recalls, dystopias tend to be storm-prone. The weather doesn't know this is a war zone, though, so it's gorgeous.

But when Nina heads out to meet Anne, the landscape tells its own story. Burned-out cars meet broken pylons, overturned shopping carts cover suspicious dark blurs of clothing, and people scurry about, low to the ground, as if expecting another attack at any time. The demons mostly come out at night, though. Mostly.

Three houses down from the shelter, Anne's nailing boards over a picture window. Her hair's back in a ponytail. Damp strands at the hairline have escaped a pink bandana tied at the base of her neck. She looks like a WWII poster come to life. Nina marvels for a minute at Anne's resilience. Only time she's broken down was when Angel told her about Gunn.

Nina shakes her head to dispel the gloom, saying, "Ok, boss; what are we doing today?"

Anne grins, her joy infectious. "Taking back the city, one house at a time!"

"It's been almost a month," Nina grumbles. "You'd think they'd try again with the National Guard. What are--were--we paying taxes for?"

"I'm sure FEMA's still trying to get their act together. And we're doing our part." Anne taps in a nail with the ease of long experience.

Nina picks up a hammer, which feels way more top-heavy than it looks. "You're so cheerful," Nina says. "I envy that."

"Smile or go crazy, I say. What's a little societal meltdown?" Anne adjusts Nina's grip on the hammer.

"Well, art school didn't really prepare me for living in a Kevin Costner movie," Nina says, reaching for some nails. "And sending my family away to safety has the unfortunate side effect of them being _not here_."

What Nina doesn't say, what she's not sure Anne knows, is that she'd rather be where Angel can keep her in check. (How _does_ one come out as a werewolf? Not that easy to work into a conversation about stopping the encroaching tide of monsters.)

"So, hear anything from your sister and her kid?" Anne asks.

"Got a call through last week. They like Cleveland well enough, and it's safer than Cabo. Jill's got a job, and after meeting Faith, Amanda's decided she's going to be a slayer when she grows up." Council won't talk to Angel, but he's got one of the Original Two on his side, for which Nina is grateful. Not the one he wants, of course. Never the one he wants.

"Give her a couple years; you never know," Anne says.

Nina's eyes flicker in astonishment until she realizes Anne's talking about Amanda. Anne doesn't even know Buffy, Nina guesses. And this is hardly the time for girlish confidences. _Pretty sure my boyfriend's usually thinking about his ex. Pass the nails._ Yeah, no.

"I was rescued by a slayer a few years back, when I first met Angel," Anne continues. "Twice, actually, but I don't think she remembered the first time when I met her again. She's why I ended up in the people-helping business."

"Is there _anything_ a slayer can't do?" Nina blurts out, probably bitchier than she meant. She ducks her head at Anne's surprised look, tries an abrupt shift in topic to something less angry-making. "People living in these houses yet? Decent enough, if smallish."

"People are scared, but the shelter's too cramped. I'll probably move into one of these, show people it's safe." Anne lifts another board, clean scent of hard work coming off her in a wave.

Nina swallows. Spend enough time with demons, and you forget how live people smell, all salty and hot. She stretches her body and quiets her mind, throwing herself into the work.

***

When Nina gets home, Angel's bent over a dusty tome, wearing his incongruous reading glasses. He closes the leather-bound volume and looks up, the picture of serene scholarship that covers the emptiness she can see out of the corner of her eye when he thinks she's not looking.

"I think I'm making progress," he says. "Wesley had some notes tucked in this one."

Nina hears the catch in his voice and notices how he keeps a hand pressed against the book, as if he'll absorb it by osmosis. If this is how he keeps Wesley close, Nina isn't one to judge. In the quiet of her mind, she'll admit she touches Angel the same way, reaching for him as center, as safety. If only he'd stop reaching for that in the past.

"I'm glad," she says, resting an arm over his shoulders. "Anne and I boarded up a couple of houses today, to expand the safe zone."

Angel says, "Hopefully you won't need to do that much longer. There may be a way to corral the demons, possibly even banish them from this dimension." He pulls Nina in for a kiss; he's always more affectionate after he's been alone with his thoughts too long, after she's receded a bit into the sepia-toned past that's his refuge. Too bad that past keeps coming back in full color.

Nina pulls away and heads to the shower. Seems like Angel's the only one actually trying to banish the demons. She doesn't know where Spike and Illyria have holed up, but she sees them every once in a while at dusk, setting out on their hunts. They shine cruel and bright, and Nina doesn't want to get in their way. They're enjoying this brave new world a little too much.

Given the things Spike says when he's had a few drinks and comes shouting around the Hyperion's lobby, she's good with them being on a 'need to know and she doesn't' basis. She can deal with being called wolf-girl or whatever nickname Spike picks that week. What stings is hearing why, in Spike's assessment, Angel wants her in his bed. Especially because Angel doesn't deny it, just says, "Spike," in this tired voice like he's saying please, and said it enough times that it's worn him down. But he never asks Spike to leave, which tells Nina enough.

So, Angel and Nina don't talk about whatever arrangement Spike and Illyria have, or why Angel's not much for spending time with them. (She's gathered that Spike and Angel have philosophical differences and way too much history, in that way families do.) Communication isn't Nina and Angel's strong suit either; Buffy is not a topic for discussion, and they definitely don't talk about their own demon issues.

Speaking of which... Nina comes out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry, and checks the moon. It hangs low and full, clouds sweeping its face. Her cage is gone with the collapse of the Wolfram &amp; Hart building. Angel told her some rambling story about the hotel once having a cage until a city-wide cult dismantled it. He wasn't real clear on what they used to keep in said cage. And she's pretty sure she would remember mass hypnosis.

But he does own manacles. Of _course_. They're probably a popular vampire accessory. They're rusty and kinda huge, but they should be able to hold her. And hey, there's an hour left before sunset; may as well make good use of it.

Slipping into bed next to Angel, Nina presses her body against his, breast and thigh sliding atop him. She feels him harden against her, and his hands roam the expanse of her back, making her shiver. He parts his lips, and she climbs him bodily to taste his mouth. She's warm and wanting, straddling him and positions herself where it will do the most good.

"Love..." Angel breathes, and she thrills a little. His hands come up, caressing and tweaking. She loses herself in the sensation, reveling in Angel's attentions. He slips a hand between them and she sits up, throwing her head back, before leaning down into him again: slick to his hard, like all that's right, all that's left. And it _is_ good; no denying that.

When he comes, his eyes unfocus like he's watching the past unfurl over her shoulder. A girl can't have everything, but she can't help the resentment curling in her belly like the cramps that used to be her only monthly concern.

Angel's a perfect gentleman afterwards, what with the chaining her to the bed and insisting that she sleep in what comfort she can. Plenty of beds in this hotel, after all, and she's not going to be great company.

***

Nina wakes up groggy and out of it, like she's slept too long. Full sunlight splashes on her face, making her squint and fling an arm over her eyes. It's not like Angel to leave the curtains open; they don't have any of that much-lamented might-as-well-be-magic glass.

When her eyes adjust, Nina can see that the curtains aren't drawn because there aren't any curtains, because this isn't their bed, because she's not in their room at the Hyperion. The sunlight's coming in through some broken boards, and she hears scuffling noises from the street. She touches the scratches on her forearms and looks at the picture window, now all splinters and broken glass.

Dread knots her stomach as she realizes her wrists are abraded like she worried them free of the manacles. The cuffs are still on her ankles, but little bits of chain dangle from them, ending in broken links. Instinctively, she lifts a wrist to her mouth. Before she licks it, though, she realizes her tongue is already coated in something metallic and sharp-tasting.

As hard as she tries, she can't ignore the smell. She forces herself to turn around, praying she's wrong about what house this is. What looks like a broken doll lies next to her on the blood-stained mattress. Under a mess of blonde hair, Anne's face is largely intact. Not much else is.

This can't be happening, Nina thinks, as her stomach roils and she's violently sick on the floor. She leans over the side of the bed, gasping, and trying to figure out how she got here. It's all a blur of rage and alienation, tooth and claw. She tastes acid, and it burns like jealousy.

***

Sun's nearly slipping into the sea by the time Nina rouses herself from her misery. Angel will be waking soon, and she's got to go face him, find another way to stop herself. Werewolf plus repression equals monumentally bad; that wasn't in the manual.

She steps into the little house's bathroom, intent on getting a bit clean. A bra hangs on the doorknob, as if Anne left it there moments before. A toothbrush rests on the sink along with some individually-wrapped lavender soap in the shape of a crescent moon. Nina fights the urge to retch and instead rinses out her mouth, splashes off her face and arms.

Looking in the mirror, she decides that before she leaves she should wrap Anne (what's left of Anne, her traitorous mind gibbers) in the sheets. Wouldn't want predators... Too late for that. She grips the sink until her hands shake and her vision blurs; going back out there is harder than anything she's had to do since everything went sideways.

She can't shake the feeling that this was no accident. It wasn't Anne's fault that she was a link to Angel's past, but try explaining that to a werewolf. And Angel's going to blame himself, because that's what he does best. This is going to kill him. Or would, except for the whole already-dead thing. And Anne's _dead_ now, and she actually saw _Nina_ instead of Buffy, and Nina couldn't return the favor, and didn't even warn her... Shit. Crying seems so self-indulgent, but she can't not.

When she steps back into the front room, she's not alone. Blue and unearthly, Illyria just stands there, not saying anything, shiny knives in both hands. Nina opens her mouth, and then closes it. There's nothing she can say that would change the mute evidence on the bed. She just hopes someone tells Jill and Amanda a kind lie.

Illyria's blades strike swift and true, catching Nina across bare breast and throat. Doesn't hurt like she expected, but her blood turns to ice as she sinks to her knees, bone-cold. Time stretches out like a bubble, thinner and thinner.

Nina notices that Illyria's alone; for once, Spike's nowhere in sight. Illyria tilts her shoulder and her head, like they're connected by some kind of carapace, and watches as Nina twitches on the floor.

"Spike," Nina manages, though she's choking on her own blood. "Send him to Angel. Please." She hears the echo of her voice like it's coming from far away.

Nina thinks she sees acknowledgment in those inhuman eyes before the light fades.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Chrisleeoctaves asked for Buffy/Angel, Angel/Riley, or Angel/Nina with a fic kink of proxy sex (ie, Angel is doing someone else, but it's all about Buffy.) She requested angst, the curse intact, and a positive treatment of B/A, with no all-human fic.


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